The Caregiver
by yep still me but gone
Summary: This piece tells the story of a young man who's sometimes adorable, sometimes irritating, and, sometimes, slow on the uptake. When it becomes too hard for him to take care of his mentally ill stepmother on a daily basis, Edward asks Carlisle to hire a psychiatric nurse. The one who appears at their doorstep is named Bella Swan. *FAGE 9 Entry, AU, all human, contains adult themes*
1. Chapter 1

**FAGE 9: The Last Ride**

 **Title:** The Caregiver

 **Written for:** TwiAddictAnne

 **Written by:** Dorchester

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary/Prompt used:** _Twilight - Edward/Bella_

 _"Two broken souls finding completion in each other."_

Also, I had three images and I picked one, with a handwritten note which said, _"I can't wait to kiss you"_

If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group: Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.

community/FAGE-9-The-Last-Ride/93625/

Pre-read by **loopylou992** and betaed by **Alice's White Rabbit.** Ladies, you rock! Thank you so much!

 **A/N (last one):** Welcome into the mind of a young man: this story is written from **Edward's POV**. I hope you don't disagree with his way of thinking.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Esme joined me in the dining room—a silent, breezy shadow. She sat at the table and stared into nothing for a while.

It wasn't unusual for her to lose herself for long minutes, her eyes blank, her lips mouthing soundless words to non-existent companions, people whom she'd sometimes call her _visitors_. She would revive after minutes, or hours, and tell me which of her _visitors_ she had been seeing in that particular moment. She would rise to her feet, wander in the house looking for my dad, determined to tell him her story of the day. She would realize he wasn't there, that _those people_ weren't there, and would clam up, sob and pant for a while, and ask me, "Am I ill, Edward?" and I would say, "You'll be all right, Esme," and that would be the biggest, fattest lie.

I looked at her slender, fragile frame. She didn't eat much lately; she was becoming thinner. I thought of looking for some cookies in the kitchen, or something else with a lot of calories, to give her after she came back. But, I wouldn't leave her for now, not while she was like _that_. I was the sole person to look after her while Dad worked his night shift, and I was ... responsible. So, I waited and waited for time to pass, to see her eyes brighten, to tell her that she was fine now, that everything was going to be all right. Because, of course, that's what you tell your father's second wife who has a brain disease.

I saw the shift in her shoulders a second before she jumped and stood up, and I sensed more than realized something was off tonight. Something was a bit different. She wasn't mouthing words. I was certain she wasn't even seeing her _visitors_. This was entirely different. Her gaze wasn't blank or distant; her eyes were focused, worried, huge. She was breathing heavily and looked at me as if she expected me to say something, or do something. I stood up and observed; I wasn't prepared to take any action. I had no idea what was going on in her damaged mind.

She stood still in the middle of the room, and I continued to do nothing but observe her figure—the slight twitches of her fisted fingers, the descent of her chin when she chose to stare at the floor. Her fists unclenched and grabbed the hem of her long, fluffy sweater. I saw her pale fingers pull the knitwear up, then I registered two thumbs disappearing beneath the waistband of her leggings. Tight black jersey got peeled down; I was also able to see the white cotton of panties, pale skin of her thighs exposed. Before I knew, she was squatting.

I heard, and saw, and _smelled_ what she did next.

The puddle on the floor grew larger and larger. It reached her faux fur slippers. I watched them getting soaked and darkened, and that's what triggered, finally, the realization that I had to move.

I approached my squatting, peeing, half-undressed stepmother. I tried minding the puddle but there was no way to reach her without stepping into the dampness of her urine. For a fraction of a second, I stared at my socked feet and sorely regretted the fact that I'd removed my shoes. Nothing could be done though; I took the last step, which got me close enough to lift her the moment the noise of leakage stopped.

I bent forward, reached with my right hand under her armpit, and she, thankfully, got the idea. She lifted her arm and held my neck. My left arm went under her bare, cold thighs, just above the knees, and I picked her up. Her feet dangled and her palm rested on the nape of my neck, all the way to the bathroom. _Dear Lord, help me._ She was nearly weightless, like a little bird.

She smiled at me. A placated, although faint, smile.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Esme," I said, and I got her inside the bath, minding that she would remain standing on her feet and facing the faucet wall.

She said nothing, just went on smiling.

"Can you do it yourself? Wash your … uhm …"

That wasn't going to work, obviously. I placed her palm back on my neck, hoping she would use the leverage. She did so, mechanically, and assisted me lifting one leg, then the other, while I removed her slippers, leggings, underwear. She stood still, naked from the waist down. Her long sweater did the job to protect her modesty, at least partly. The faucet and the handheld showerhead were a bit too far to reach, so I left her standing on her own, adjusted the waterjet, and started showering her thighs.

"Feet apart, Esme. Like that." She cooperated again, and I turned the showerhead slightly upward, hoping it removed all the residue. I tried not to look.

I tried not to touch, either, when I toweled her.

She was fast asleep a minute or two after I tucked her in her bed. I'd made sure she swallowed her sleeping pill with a good amount of water.

To me, sleep didn't come easily. I contemplated calling my father at the hospital. But, what good would it do? Worrying him hours before he could come home, disturbing his work, and for what? I'd managed the situation somehow. We would talk in the morning when he got back home. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the images of Esme's woman parts would disappear any moment now. _Too bad we can't delete the cookies before we shut down our operating system for the night,_ I thought. I couldn't unsee her pinkish hue and sparse hairs down there.

* * *

Good thing I remembered none of my dreams when I woke up the next morning.

She was still asleep; my father was about to come home soon. I made a pot of coffee and checked my Twitter on my mobile, killing some time. Then I heard the front door; Dad was here.

I straightened my shoulders and stood up to greet him when he entered, and my _good-morning-here's-the coffee_ was the only nice thing he heard from me. He listened to my dry report, his eyes shut most of the time; he gulped and gulped as if swallowing bile, his lips thin, white lines pressed so tightly that it probably hurt.

I told him everything, just the way it was. I also told him, like I'd done it on numerous occasions, that she needed to be institutionalized. When he spoke at last, it was to say, "Over my dead body."

We'd come to an agreement, some time ago, that I would stay here, with him, while my older brothers couldn't. They had jobs, and spouses, and _lives_ in Washington; my coming back to Forks, to him and Esme, had turned out to be the natural solution. I didn't even have a girlfriend, and I'd just gotten my bachelor's degree at UDub. It was decided that I wouldn't need to look for a job for now. I would help my father with the household, and he would keep his position at Forks Community Hospital. It was so well paid, after all. I would help with Esme, too.

It hadn't bothered me that much for the last few months. Not until last night.

"Dad, she's getting worse."

"No, I'm sure it was just an episode, Edward. We'll get through it. It will be fine."

One can't just tell Dr. Carlisle Cullen that he's delusional. My father is a man of dignity, solid as a rock, generally kind and caring, but sometimes harsh. I couldn't just say he was mistaken; he had to see the proof for himself.

"Good morning," Esme's voice chimed. She appeared at the door, eyes not fully opened from the sleep, white teeth flashing in a huge smile.

"Hi, love," Dad answered and began to move toward her until he froze in his spot halfway there. That was when he noticed she was wearing only a long-sleeve tee and was still naked from the waist down.

I hadn't found it in me to dress her bits last night. I … couldn't. I only removed her sweater before I tucked her under the blankets, and that was that.

Dad turned his head as if he was one of those wooden puppets. He looked at me, and his eyes were wide, too wide.

"Yeah," I said. "What I meant."

He shook his head, stubborn denial and incredulity still written all over his face. He then looked back at Esme, then back at me, and then the tears started.

"Okay," he was murmuring. "Okay. We need to do something. I'll … I'll find a way."

"Dad, she needs to be taken care of by specialists," I half-whispered. I wasn't sure if she was hearing, if she was understanding.

"I've studied psychiatry, son. You know it. I'll find a way to make it easier for you." Dad's voice was a whisper, too. He then looked back to his wife and spoke louder, "Why are you naked, Esme?"

She stood there in the doorway and looked down for the first time. She obviously acknowledged the lack of clothing but simply shrugged. "I don't know," she said, her answer more like a question and totally lacking embarrassment. In a second or two, she added, "Oh," when she comprehended the situation a bit too slowly. "I guess I'm really ill." She turned on her heel and disappeared, and Dad followed her. "I didn't … Oh, Carlisle," I could hear Esme's voice. "I didn't know, for Christ's sake. I have no idea how this happened. Oh, my God." Her voice faded away.

While they were gone, I came up with the brilliant resolve to our situation. We needed a nurse, a _female_ nurse, to come live with us.

I told Dad later that day, after he had rested from his night shift, that he needed to find said female nurse and hire her immediately.

"Oh, and how are we going to pay her, Edward?" Dad debated, and it was the most logical question.

I'd taken that into consideration, of course. While my father slept, and Esme idled in front of the TV, I'd done some thinking.

"I won't go back for a master's degree. We can use my fund. And you have some savings. It will be enough for a good period of time. I'll find a daytime job, as well. The nurse will manage daytime by herself. One of us will be always be available at night. Think about it."

By night, Dad had gotten wiser. He agreed.

It was a matter of days for him to find a candidate for the position.

"Her name's Bella Swan, a local. She's spent several years away to study and has come back to Forks, fresh out of college. One of the few psychiatric nurses in town; I think we got lucky. She's coming this afternoon to meet us."

I felt a jolt of real happiness. Drinking my afternoon coffee, I found her LinkedIn profile on my laptop.

There was a tiny photo, and she looked like a tiny rodent. _Urgh_.

* * *

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when she rang the doorbell. Dad let her in, I was waiting in the dining room, and Esme was probably taking a nap in the living room. Dad and Bella would join me after he gave her a tour around the house.

I wasn't overly eager to see her face, so I waited patiently while she got acquainted with floors one and two. I was sure Dad wasn't taking her to the third floor, as the only living area there was my bedroom. After a trial month, if she was still okay to stay with us, and if we were still okay with her, she would take one of the guest bedrooms on that floor. For now, she had nothing to do there.

The second floor was where Esme and Dad slept. Next to their bedroom was Dad's study. There were also my two older brothers' bedrooms, now unoccupied. The two rooms were always tidy and equipped with clean bedsheets, should any of them venture a visit. Emmett visited at least twice a year, together with his wife, Rosalie. Jasper and his lady, Alice, hadn't come in years. Jasper was still sour with Dad for marrying another woman after Mom passed away. I found it stupid of him; Dad deserved some happiness. Turned out, our parent was paying for that happiness at a dear cost now that Esme had become, what he called, his gift and his burden all in one.

The ground floor contained the living room, the kitchen with adjacent sitting room, the laundry room, and the hallway with my grand piano.

I'd missed playing it lately, and that was what I was thinking about when Dad and our future employee joined me in the dining room.

I saw at once how deceitful that LinkedIn photo was. She was tiny, yes, but she was no rodent. Hell, no, no rodent at all—she was a porcelain doll. I looked at her face and only came up with two words: delicate and flawless. I thought this girl had to be on a magazine cover, modeling makeup and jewelry. If her face looked like _this_ with nothing on, I could only imagine what she could look like after someone put some posh color and luxury shine on her.

Dad cleared his throat.

Oh.

"Hello." I noticed my voice was somewhat hoarse. "I finally get the chance to introduce myself." I stood up. "I'm Edward Cullen … and you're Bella Swan." She took my outstretched hand, nodded, and said nothing. "Did you like the house?" I went on. She smiled and uttered something, which sounded like a faint "yes."

"So, Bella," my father spoke, "I'll go get Esme. You just sit down, we'll be back in a while."

"Yes, sure, thanks," Bella answered in one breath and started picking at her fingernails. I wondered why she looked so self-conscious. Dad left the two of us alone.

"Is here okay?" Bella pointed at one of the chairs, and for a while, I couldn't get what she was on about. I didn't understand whether she was asking for permission to sit on that particular chair, or she was waiting for me to attend to her. Just in case, I said nothing and pulled the chair out for her, and like a perfect gentleman, pushed it back while she sat. I was inexperienced in courtesy, but we performed the operation quite well. I sat back in my place. She was looking somewhere to the right of me, and a telltale blush, which reached her ears, gave away her embarrassment. So, probably, she hadn't expected me to wait on her. Oh, well.

"I can't wait to meet Esme," she said, filling the awkward silence.

"Esme is a wonderful person," I began to explain. "But now, she's … confused some of the time."

"Yeah, I know that. That's fine. I mean, no, it's not fine, but I'm used to it. To such people."

"Why are you in Forks at all?" I blurted out.

Her forehead wrinkled. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Dad came with Esme in tow, and I couldn't learn if our nurse was going to answer me or throw a blasphemy at my stupid head.

"Esme, this is Bella," Dad said. "She's the nurse I told you about."

"Hi," Bella stood up slowly.

"So she's starting today?" Esme looked a little worried, but all in all pretty good. She was wearing a dress. The slippers (her new ones) were replaced by two-inch heels; she wore a gilded bracelet and her wedding band. I looked at my white socks, then at Bella's black sneakers, her baggy jeans, and well-worn green hoodie. Dad had omitted to tell us both there was a dress code for the night. He was wearing a button-down, suit trousers, and shiny shoes himself, thankfully no tie. For him, nearly casual, but still.

While I pondered on his absent-mindedness, Bella had taken Esme's hand in hers and had started talking.

"Pleased to meet you, Esme. I'm here tonight to tell you that I want to help you. I'm here to understand if you will let me learn how to help. I know some moments have been very hard for you, and I'm qualified to be there for you in such moments. It will take some time for you to get used to my presence. But I can see you're strong and willing to accept my help. And I can assure you that I am strong, too."

Dad leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Textbook introduction. Great so far."

I believed him because Esme had put a polite, although a little strained, smile on her face.

"Okay, let's talk," Esme said. Bella sat down, and so did all of us.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It wasn't a long talk. We simply told Bella most of the things that had happened with Esme. Both Dad and I were struggling to get delicately to the very painful heart of the matter, to where we'd realized things were already bad, hopeless.

We'd known what her diagnose meant, DLB, as in Dementia with Lewy Bodies—she was never going to get better. We didn't say it out loud. We said that now she needed a different kind of care from what we could provide. Bella said yes, of course, that was what she was here for.

Her month's trial began with several nice, quiet days. Esme was taking her medication, eating three meals a day, and sleeping regularly. Her _visitors_ haven't come in a while.

Until they came.

* * *

"Noooo! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Esme was shrieking—and there was no one near her. "Nooo!" She was pulling fistfuls of her hair, her head shaking left to right. Then she quieted and stopped moving. She sat on the edge of her favorite armchair, slouching, not unlike a forgotten ragdoll thrust on a dusty shelf.

I approached carefully and put my hand on her shoulder. I wanted to make her snap out of it, help somehow. I'd done it before. She was calm now; I had the full right to believe the crisis had gone away. The moment I touched her, unfortunately, it all began anew.

"Don't touch meeee!" she wailed.

Then the doorbell rang. _Ah, Bella. Great timing, girl._

I lifted my hand off Esme's shoulder. The wail grew quieter although it didn't stop.

I went to let Bella in, hoping Esme wouldn't move from her seat. When we were back with her, though, she was on the floor, sobbing.

"You kicked me! How dare you kick me!" her voice came hissing and rasp.

Bella lifted her tiny face and looked at me, recognition clearly written in her wide pupils.

"You didn't kick her, did you?"

That wasn't a question, actually, but more likely a statement. I shook my head just in case.

"Okay then."

Bella squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and squatted next to Esme.

"Stand up, Mrs. Cullen. They only kick people who lie on the ground. Just stand up. Esme. Didn't you want to go to the bathroom?"

That's what Bella said. Esme answered, "Oh, yes, indeed." And that was it, the crisis was over. Esme stood and looked at me, then at Bella, and lifted her chin up to the side, tilting her head.

"I think I got dizzy for a minute there. If you excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom."

* * *

Days passed. Sometimes, I thought Bella was more of a housekeeper than a nurse. She did Esme's laundry. She went grocery shopping. Sometimes, she cooked together with Esme, and they sang, and yelled at the TV, which showed stupid soap operas in the background.

Then there were those days when Esme didn't recognize Bella and swore at her. "You whore! You're here to steal Carlisle from me! You and your tight young ass, your filthy asshole is all stretched up and waiting for a fine man's cock! I never let him do me there, and now he's after you! You dirty little whore!"

Funny thing, I'd never thought of any of Bella's holes, not until Esme said those things for the first time. I didn't think of Bella's holes while Esme was shouting either. I was just trying to cope with the notion of Dad's sex life. Too much information and all.

Later that day though, I looked into the darkness of my room and couldn't stop the thoughts about Bella's _tight, young ass_ as formulated by Esme. I could bet Bella's ass wasn't _filthy_. From what I'd seen, Bella was always clean, or should I say, pure. As pure as an angel.

 _An angel with a little, clean tight asshole_ was my second to last thought before I fell asleep. And the last one was, _Shit, I'm a pervert._

* * *

Bella finished drying the dishes and announced she was going home. Some last cups and saucers needed to be tucked away in the cupboards, and I told her I'd do that. She refused, saying it was going to be a tough night for me with Carlisle gone to work for the night, and Esme being restless for the last few hours.

"She's off to bed early, Bella. I think I'll be all right for the night."

"Do you want me to stay a bit longer, Edward?" she asked then. "I mean," she stuttered, "I don't want extra money or anything."

I looked at her incredulously. What would make her want to stay in this house for a moment longer than the hours she was paid for?

"Oh, forget I asked," she went on. "I didn't want to intrude. Sorry."

She was about to reach for her ruffled hoodie when I stopped her.

"No, wait. Bella. I … you surprised me, is all. Stay. Of course."

"Oh." Her outstretched arm went limp. She swayed on her heels and shrugged her shoulders. "What shall we do then?"

"Maybe I should offer you a drink?"

I momentarily realized it was a stupid idea, drinking while being on the watch.

"Or not?" I said while she squinted her eyes and shook her head. "Of course not. Movie then?"

"How about I fix us both sundaes?" She was smiling, and she was so cute, really cute. The smile shone in her dark eyes and curved her full lips nicely. I took a moment to appreciate her porcelain skin, now wrinkled amid her cheeks into delicate dimples.

"Yeah, sure. Sundae is great."

She went to the fridge. She bent down a little to reach for the ingredients, and I had a few moments when I could do nothing but observe her hips and butt. Not a bad view despite the denim coverage.

The evening became an unexpected disaster. Nothing happened with Esme, no. It was all inside my head and, well, my briefs.

During small talk and some jokes, I watched Bella lick ice cream from a little spoon for more than half an hour. At some point, I'd acquired a nasty boner, one that wouldn't go away, while I pictured that tongue sliding over my crown, or my balls, down there. I also thought of her holes, again—one of them wet and welcoming, the other one tight and challenging. I pictured impaling the welcoming one from behind; I guessed I wouldn't be able to be very gentle. That'd rather be an impatient, hurried, slightly forceful first push, considering I hadn't had sex in months. My slicked thumb would tease the other hole, the _tight_ one. She would pant and writhe and ask me to go on.

I mentally scolded myself, realizing I'd never actually seen her in anything other than baggy jeans; I didn't even know what her legs looked like, for fuck's sake! _Pervert._

Then that idiotic thought made its poking, intrusive way into my mind. Why was she always dressed so frumpily? Why not put on a skirt or a dress? She looked young and fit enough to show a thigh. Why was she hiding herself, unlike the other girls her age? Probably the job, I answered myself. Should be choosing to wear something comfortable.

"Let's hang out tomorrow," I blurted out. "The beach. First beach, La Push, maybe."

"No," she said with some urgency. Was it panic I saw through her flickering blinking?

"No? Why not?"

"Too crowded," she answered and averted her gaze much too quickly.

"Not the beach then. Where would you go?"

"I … Actually, I have to go home, Edward. It was nice chatting with you. I'll be _here_ tomorrow, in fact."

And she left. My boner was gone.

* * *

The month passed. Bella was hired for the permanent job. On day thirty-one, she came to the door with two suitcases and took the room across from mine.

Day thirty-two was the day Esme fainted. All four of us were home. Dad and Bella handled the situation, and after Esme came back to her senses, my father and our nurse looked silently in each other's eyes for a long, long time.

On day thirty-three, Esme fell while climbing the stairs. Bella and I worked as a team to pick her up and support her on the way to her bedroom. Before the day was gone, Dad was home with a walker for her. Esme agreed it was dangerous for her to go down the stairs by herself and promised never to leave the second floor if one of us wasn't around to help. She also promised to use the walker. She lay in bed for the rest of the day, bruised and sad. "Guys, I hate the walker," she said. "I hate it."

Day thirty-four was uneventful.

On day thirty-five, in the late afternoon, Esme attempted suicide.

Dad had left her only for a minute, gone to the bathroom, and on his return, had found her standing on the windowsill. The window had been open, and her right foot already stepping into the outside, into the nothingness. Dad had grabbed her hand the moment before she shifted her weight.

* * *

He told us he wanted to be alone with her that night.

The TV in his and Esme's bedroom was on; it sounded like they were watching a show. I was on my way up to my room when I heard their muffled laughter. My heart swelled at their little moment of joy, utterly unrealistic—as if nothing special had happened a few hours before. I sighed and went on, taking the last flight of stairs two at a time.

I had no reason to go and eavesdrop by Bella's door, but I did it. She'd retired for her night's sleep a bit earlier and was probably dreaming her second dream by now. I didn't actually expect to hear any noise, and what I heard scared the shit out of me.

It was something of a rumbling roar, a long, hoarse grunt followed by another, then another. The kind of sound a person would make if attacked, captured, or tortured; the grunt of a victim rendered bestial with rage.

My only possible course of action was, of course, to barge in. To my surprise, the door was unlocked, and the room was brightly lit. Bella was sitting on the edge of her bed, knees dangling, her whole body trembling, fists hitting the mattress. She had a nightdress on, and her feet were shoeless. There was another roar, and I noticed tears were running down her cheeks, her teeth bared and clenched, shiny and very, very white. Upon seeing me, the roar stopped; she jumped to her feet and ran to me. Next thing I knew, she was hitting me in the chest with her tiny fists. It hurt.

"Out!" she began yelling at me. "Go away!" But the tears down her cheeks hadn't stopped, and the only thing I wanted was to soothe her somehow. So I went for the obvious move. I took her in a vice-like embrace, pinning her arms to her sides. I knew I was nearly stopping her air supply. "Shhh, it's all right, Bella. It's all right." I murmured nothings.

She hiccupped, then she kneed me in the groin.

 _That's what they call an unexpected operating system interrupt and halting of the central processor unit_.

My brain went buzzing. I had to let go of her arms. The pain made my legs wobbly. I slouched and felt like a huge, hurting, useless empty space. The distress must have been written all over my face because, when she spoke, things had been turned the other way around, and she was trying to soothe _me_.

"I'm sorry, Edward!" She even stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. It's going to be all right. Are you going to be all right?"

One can't just stand up and smile right after being kicked in the groin. I made an attempt anyway.

"Yeah. I'm fine. But … What was that for, Bella?" I asked through gritted teeth, doing my best not to hiss.

"It's complicated," she answered after a couple moments of deep thought.

"I'm sure I can keep up," I said between shallow breaths and finally managed to stand upright.

"Not now. Please," she begged.

"Is it something about your past, Bella?" I couldn't hold my stupid tongue behind my teeth.

"I don't like the question, Edward." She was pushing me, her tiny palms on my chest where they'd punched a minute ago. "Now, leave. Goodnight."

There wasn't going to be more to this conversation then. Like a beaten dog, I picked up my tail and retreated.

"Goodnight, Bella. But, uhm … there's just this one thing I want to tell you." I had to, really, because somehow it seemed important for me to have the last word. "You can't say you don't like my question. The right way to put it is you don't like the answer you're going to give."

I slammed the door closed before she could say another word.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

It's funny how that night got labeled in my memory—not "the night after Esme's attempted suicide," but "the night when I entered Bella's room for the first time."

The next time I invaded her privacy was on her day off, a couple days after the knee-in-my-groin incident. Her room was unlocked, like before, and that was a good sign, wasn't it? It showed she had nothing to hide, despite all the clues of irregular behavior I'd observed so far. I had tons of questions, so I tried to calm my conscience down. I told myself that trespassing, this blatant display of my dubious morale, was justified by the fact that Dad and I were her employers and knew nothing of her personal life. What if she was a closeted maniac or something?

Of course, I wouldn't mess with her belongings. I just wanted to take a look.

The look I took was a very brief one. My glimpse was immediately drawn to something on her desk.

A notebook. Obviously, a well-used one. Alluring and tempting.

Who was I to pretend there's such a thing as a strong will? I gave in to the temptation without a second thought.

I opened to a random page. I read. I knew I should be surprised about the line I came upon, but, actually, I wasn't.

 _ **Edward. You blink, and I go blind. You breathe, and I go breathless.**_

I turned the page. The next one contained a single sentence.

 _ **I can't wait to kiss you.**_

So … She was attracted to me. So to say. In love, maybe. _Oh, hell._

I didn't know what to do with the information. I dropped the notebook hastily and pushed it with a fingernail, left and right, to its former position.

At that moment, my mind contemplated the situation and informed me that I, too, had certain feelings for Bella Swan.

I thought of wanting to know more about her, those stupid things like her favorite color, or drink, or food, and also things about her anatomy. Like, for example, did she have all thirty-two teeth? What if I could push my forefinger in her mouth and feel each one of those teeth, count them? Did she have moles? Any scars? Would she show them to me?

Did she like to dance? What was her favorite music? Would she listen to me playing the piano? Would she sit next to me on the bench and try to kiss me while I played?

My mind went into overdrive. Would she wear a skirt for me while doing the chores? Would she let me stick my slicked finger straight into her depth when she bent for the dishwasher?

I realized I was so hard I could fuck through a rock.

 _Yep. Pervert_.

I hid in my room and jerked off to the image of Bella Swan in a skirt, telling me she wanted to kiss me.

I wished there were an Undo command in real life. Also, Unsee, Unlearn, Unfeel.

Because what I did, what I saw and learned, and felt that day, was seriously confusing.

* * *

The next day, I couldn't look Bella in the eyes. I avoided her like the plague. Esme kept Bella busy; she needed to be changed several times. She was wearing diapers lately but hated them and attempted to remove them every now and then. Bella changed bed sheets, did laundry, cooked, fed Esme and then Dad came home at dinnertime.

Ever since my early childhood, that man always knew when something was bothering me. He didn't fail this time either. The two of us sat at the dinner table, and he asked me straight away what was wrong.

"It's nothing, Dad."

"Nothing you want to talk about, you mean," he said and picked at the peas on his plate.

"He's rummaged in my room," Bella's voice announced out of the blue, surprising the shit out of me. She was standing in the doorframe. My father bristled.

"This can't be true. I didn't raise you like that, Edward." He slammed a fist on the table and his glass clinked against the saltshaker.

I averted my gaze and sighed.

"It's true, Dad. I'm sorry."

I turned my eyes to Bella.

"So you knew and didn't say a thing for the whole day?"

"I wanted to see first if you were going to share any impressions of what you read, Edward," Bella snarled.

"Bella, look. I went in because I was worried about you!"

"Worried?" She looked at me as if I'd grown antlers.

"Yes, I was. There's something that torments you. I saw you beat your mattress the other day, and you cried, Bella! And you hit me and kicked me in the balls, for Christ's sake!"

She stood there and gulped, and sniffed, but her eyes were dry and focused. She looked at me, then at my Dad.

"Very well. Esme's asleep; I'm just going to sit here with you two for a while."

Her voice was strangely calm after she'd just nearly busted out.

"Do you want to talk about it, Bella?" Dad asked.

"In fact, I do, Carlisle." She put her steady palms in her lap and lifted her chin stubbornly.

"What Edward says is true. I did cry, and I kicked him, and I'm sorry. I was in a bad place that night.

"It says in my resume that I live alone, Carlisle. Before I returned to Forks, the house belonged to my father. He got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer while I was away. I postponed coming back to him, always using the excuse of my busy schedule. One day, when the pain got too much, he chose to put an end to his suffering. He jumped out the window, my room window. He was dead there and then. They sent me his farewell note.

"I wasn't there to say goodbye. I never saw him again. When I got back for the funeral, he was already in a closed casket. I wasn't there to say goodbye while he still lived. And Esme … she chose the same ..."

She was crying in all honesty now, her chin still high up in the air. Her lower lip was slightly trembling but she looked my father straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry to hear this, Bella." I'd never heard my father's voice sound so weak. "I'm sorry."

I just wished my lap was a cradle for her to sit in and make her comfortable. I'd hug her and rock her back and forth until the tears dried.

"So, about Edward. How I know he was in my room." She looked at me then, sniffed, and straightened her shoulders. "Edward, I read a lot of detective stories, you should know."

I gaped and lifted an eyebrow.

"That should tell you why I put a hair on my diary when I leave my room. The hair was gone this morning."

"Guilty as charged," I said. "But I liked what I read."

She dismissed my statement with a wave of her hand and looked at my father again.

"The thing is, Carlisle, I have feelings for Edward. Which I try to hold back. But it's hard. I was about to kiss him that night, and that's why I kicked him instead, to make him disappear from my sight. I'm, sort of, in love with him."

"Sort of," Dad said and cocked his head to the side as if trying to hear his inside voice better.

"I should go pack my stuff then, right?"

Bella stood up and, before anyone could respond, was gone from the room.

* * *

"What are you going to do about it, Edward?" Dad asked me once we were alone.

"How the fuck do I know?" I answered, shaking my head.

"Language, Edward."

"Sorry. Dad, she obviously thinks this is wrong."

"It _is_ wrong. She's a hired nurse and caregiver; she's not supposed to be in a personal relationship with her employer. But how do you feel about her?"

"Attracted," I admitted.

"As in sexually attracted?" Dad smiled. "You don't say."

Was he mocking me?

"Yeah." I physically felt the blush, which crept up my cheeks. It burned. "But I feel something more for her, too."

"Which is?" Dad was looking at me expectantly.

By then, I hadn't figured out my emotions, but it seemed my Dad's question provoked a leak of words and the shaping of my attitude toward Bella.

"Look, I'm not in love with her. But I feel like I want to spend a lot of time with her. All day, and all night too. Protect her from her sad thoughts. Make her laugh. I want to know everything about her favorite things and make them happen. I want her to be happy. I can't stand to see her suffer."

"I see. But you're not in love with her." Somehow, Dad's eyes looked like he was laughing although he didn't produce another sound.

"I'm not." I had to reassure him.

"Go stop her, son," Dad told me, his finger pointing at my chest.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

So I entered Bella's room for the third time. I didn't knock. I expected to see her fishing things out of drawers and shelves, throwing them angrily into her two suitcases.

To my dismay, the room was empty, and there was no furious Bella in sight. I closed the door behind me. Then the other door, the one for the adjacent bathroom, opened, and there stood Bella wrapped in a huge towel which covered most of her below the shoulders.

So, she was about to take a shower. Obviously.

"Edward." She stepped out, fisting the towel above her breasts. "Why are you here?"

"Bella, don't go," I said. Not very eloquent, indeed. Still, that was all I really wanted to tell her.

"I've thought about it," she began, her fist still clutching the towel. "I was going to come back and talk to you and your Dad in a while. Esme is getting worse. She needs me. You all need me. Am I right?"

I nodded.

"All we have to do is pretend my stupid obsession with you doesn't exist, and I'll stay if that's okay with you two."

"Obsession?" This conversation was rendering me incapable of normal speech.

She stepped forward and hugged herself around the waist with her free arm.

"Every time you tried to approach me," she went on, "I fought the urge to tell you about it, about my obsession. That's why I pushed you away, well, most of the time. Sorry for that kick, again, by the way. Now, if you please."

She nudged my ribs with her fist. I didn't step back. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath through flaring nostrils.

"Remember how I behaved when we first met? It was you, the way you looked, Edward. I was … smitten. I hadn't expected to be hired into a house where such a man lived, a man like … you."

"Like me?" She made no sense.

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror, Edward? You're amazing! And more amazing with each day!"

I thought she was the amazing one but chose to let that slip.

"Oh, God. Get out of here. Now!" Once again, I was pushed out of that very room. "I'm staying; I'm Esme's nurse. Tell your father nothing has changed. For you, too. Nothing has changed. Don't you ever dare talk about it."

"Bella, I—"

"Out, Edward."

She had opened the door, and her chin pointed my way out. Then she slammed the door shut.

 _I think you're amazing, fantastic, and beautiful, Bella. Especially when you're wearing that towel. It favors the smoothness of your porcelain skin. I want to be able to see your skin every day. I want to be allowed to touch you. I want to be allowed to love you._

That's what I wanted to tell her. But I was outside, in the hall, feeling once again like a hurting, useless empty space.

* * *

Bella stayed. She kept a strictly professional attitude, all the time. For _months_.

I got myself a part-time job as a substitute teacher at the Quileute school, which had nothing to do with my degree in computer science.

I was unhappy and so was she.

* * *

Esme was admitted to the hospital in late November, six and a half months after the diary fiasco. She'd refused to eat for two days in a row.

She passed away a week before Christmas.

* * *

Bella's two suitcases were placed in the middle of the dining room. I frowned when I remembered this was the exact place where my stepmother had made a puddle of urine. The tiles were clean and glossy, of course. I felt a pang of pain; everything now looked like Esme never existed.

The two suitcases would disappear within minutes. It would be like Bella never existed, too.

She was saying goodbye to my father at the moment. He hugged her closely and placed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

"We will miss you, Bella." Dad's eyes were red and puffy from tears and lack of sleep. The funeral had been a great torment for him. He was half the man I knew, slouched and malnourished. He'd _shrunk_.

"I'll miss you too, Carlisle," she said and heaved a sigh.

I was next to say goodbye. Bella came near me and placed a finger on my lower lip.

"Edward," she whispered and let her arm fall. Her eyes brimmed with tears. I think mine did too.

I felt the sudden urge to clear my throat. Bella stood and stared at me, and said nothing to help me pull my feet out of the sticky swamp of utter embarrassment.

I didn't know what to say.

"Don't see me out," she said in a shaky voice.

The taxi driver outside lost his patience and honked. She picked her two suitcases up and left the house.

* * *

It was only after Bella left our lives when I began dreaming of her.

 _She approaches the bed and turns around, then with a childish skip pounces and lunges over the fluffy duvet. The ahh on her parted lips dies under my scrutiny. She's naked and perfect. I look at her with general astonishment. I'm like that parent who finds out that the baby has five digits attached to each limb. She's flawless._

 _I lay next to my porcelain doll._

 _She's got eyelashes that violate the laws of decency. Lips that hide biting teeth and a tongue, which heals the bite marks. Fingers that leave crimson prints and caress away the burns, eyes that strip my body and tuck my soul in the warm duvet of trust. A heart that beats faster than the clock but halts at every touch of skin. Nipples that lure in the cold and shy away under a warm breath. Hips that trap and comfort. A scorching, slick abyss of guilt and bliss._

 _In. Thrust. Thrust. Faster. Don't close your eyes. Look. Admire. Breathe. Let go._

It was the same dream, night after night, with slight variations. After several repetitions, it was wrecking my nerves.

I told myself it would pass. I had to be patient.

I had no idea how my feet had taken me to the empty room, which wasn't Bella's anymore. I'd never entered it since she was gone. But that day, I found myself standing in front of her desk.

There it was—the goddamned thing. The diary.

I clutched it in my shaking hands and searched for the last entry.

 _ **It's over.**_

I scanned the fine lettering. Touched the ink with my pinkie. Slammed the book shut. Opened it again. Then tore it, page-by-page, letting the shreds fall to the floor.

I kept one page. Folded it carefully and tucked it inside my jacket pocket.

"Dad!" I called, running down the stairs. "Do you still have Bella's file?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Dad answered.

* * *

It was a two-story house. I parked the Volvo near the entrance and stepped out into the freezing winter afternoon. I didn't have the time to look for a bell because the door opened even before I'd reached it.

There stood a huge guy, vaguely familiar from Quileute school. The mechanic, if I could recall correctly.

I was about to turn on my heel when he spoke.

"Looking for Bella?" He said her name sweetly, the ls rolling around his tongue like melting cotton candy. I hated the guy immediately. _How dare he say her name at all?_

"Who are you?" I asked. I knew I wasn't being polite, but how could I be with this intruder standing in my way?

"Ooh, you _must_ be Edward," the asshole said and smiled from ear to ear. "Ha!" Small, woman's hands had appeared around his waist.

"Step aside, Jacob," I heard Bella's voice say. He moved away, and there she was, my porcelain doll, and she was wearing a _dress_. "Will you leave us alone for a while, please?"

Jacob grunted but disappeared inside the house and closed the door.

"Edward."

"Who's the guy?" I couldn't help but ask.

"A friend. More like a brother. He came to stay with me for a few days, just keep me company now that—"

 _Like a brother. Good then. Think about it later._

It was now or never. I had to show her that the story _wasn't over._

"I … Bella. Do you trust me?"

"In theory," she answered, but her eyelids were heavy with doubt.

"Then close your eyes."

Unbelievable. She did close her eyes.

I reached for the note in my pocket and took it out. I unfolded it over my knee and straightened the paper as good as possible. Then I held the note at her eye level and said, "Open."

She looked then, obviously bewildered, and read.

"I can't wait to kiss you," I whispered.

She closed her eyes again.

"No. Look at me, Bella. I want you to look at me when you kiss me."

The warmth of her irises was hypnotizing.

"Bella, I think I'm obsessed with you too. Will you—"

She never let me finish my thought. She reached for the nape of my neck and urged me to bend, then placed her lips on mine.

She kissed me, and she didn't close her eyes, and she was wearing a dress, and she was flawless, and ... and, I loved her.

The End


End file.
